Eric let his eyes trace Charles' face on last time, before turning to go. He couldn't stay any longer, he had worn out his welcome, like so many other times. Charles never understood that he would have, could have given up his own dream, and supported Charles' dream of hope, if he only been asked. He choked back a bitter laugh--he had been asked once, so He could go love a woman, an alien woman.

He left--no swirl of a cape, no insane laugh, only a man who was old before his time, who only grew older with each new pain--heartbreak from lovers and sons, dreams crushed and nightmares renewed. And he still would come if asked. It hurt.

Life always hurt.

But at least he was alive to live--at least that what he kept telling himself, a habit left from the camps; he wondered when did the time come to actually to give up, and would he be able to break a lifetime of habit. He looked one last time, and knew it wasn't now, but soon, so soon.